I used to have a printer, and reams of paper on hand.
Envelopes and postage stamps.
Now I have a cricket in the rhododendron.
I have the things I’ve said, and what I thought they meant.
But only as I do or don’t remember them.
A closet full of books I no longer need or wear.
The coat that fit me when I had short beard and hair.
Dust enough for radishes.
It goes where the wind blows.
And the cricket, cricket, cricket, stays right here.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches